The Cell
by orangetails
Summary: A little Callen and Sam 'time-filler' set halfway between the Season 8 finale 'Unleashed' and the Season 9 premier 'Party Crashers', so contains end of season 8 spoilers, although it will mostly make sense as a stand-alone. Shades of Woman in Black/12 Angry Men, in that there are very limited appearances from 'other characters' and it is all mostly set in one place - The Cell.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N- This story has been 'in progress' since June...! It's technically my second story, started as I was finishing_ The Air We Breathe _, and long before work began on_ A Promise Made _or_ Ninguna Abandonado _... Unlike_ A Promise Made _(a writing journey I don't wish to repeat!) I have actually already written the ending. I've been struggling with the middle though, and so it's just been left,and left, and left... I figured if I started publishing the first chapters, I might get the incentive I need to finish the middle..._

 _Once again, I am trialing a slightly different style, and once again the story focuses on my favourite characters, Callen and Sam. So here it is - The Cell. Now I'm committed to completing it ;-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Callen and Sam ran in companionable silence, side by side. An unlikely pair to the casual observer, but the strong bond between the two men was subtly evident from how they comfortably kept pace together, each instinctually aware of where the other was at all times. Down the hill, along the board walk. Slowing to a walk by mutual silent agreement as they reached the sand, both breathing hard, sweating. Sam's silver trailer in the distance glinted almost golden in the low morning sun, like a fire on the horizon. A temporary home, a life on hold.

"You're out of condition," Callen teased.

"Yeah?" Look who's talking," Sam responded gruffly. He hadn't put as much effort into keeping fit as he used to. What was the point? There was no point in anything any more, with Kam and Aiden both off at school. Just him and his trailer by the water. And Callen, every now and again, rolling in like the waves on the sand to check up on him. He usually managed to be absent, but Callen had caught him setting off for a run this morning, and so here they now were.

"I'm just saying'," Callen continued. "Too much sitting around, watching the fish. It's not doing you any good, big guy."

"I'm not the one who needs to keep up with the bad guys," Sam retorted. "Not any more. Doesn't matter if I'm 'out of condition'!"

"You're really not coming back?" Callen asked, turning serious now. He missed his partner. They all did. They'd all expected Sam to have returned to work by now, though there was a tiny part of Callen, deep down, that feared he never would. His loss had been too great.

"I can't, G. Not now. Not after…" Sam broke off, falling a pace behind Callen to hide his momentary loss of composure. He still couldn't talk about losing his wife. He hoped one day he'd wake up and it would all be a bad dream, but like a disturbing recurrent nightmare, every new day was cruelly the same. Empty. Alone. And it was his fault. How could he come back from that?

Callen shook his head sadly. This was why, this was exactly why he was a tribe of one. No weak link for any of the bad guys to target to get at him, no thank you. "Not today then. Maybe tomorrow." He remained outwardly optimistic and upbeat, though even as he spoke he thought about the moment those tables had turned, the moment Sam had lost his 'glass half full' optimism. The moment he cradled his dead wife in his arms.

"Not ever, G."

"Okay." Callen left it alone, for now, still walking in the direction of Sam's trailer. "How about you show me round that new tin can of yours? We can get ourselves cleaned up and head out some place for breakfast."

Behind him, Sam grunted.

"Oh don't be like that," Callen cajoled, turning to face his partner, to see how much persuasion he would need to use to inflict yet more of his company on Sam – and what he saw turned his world upside down, right there on the deserted beach. Sam was being more or less supported by two bulky, muscled men, his head lolling down to his chest, a large contusion above his right ear showing where he had been hit and knocked half unconscious.

"Don't move, Agent Callen," a third man said warningly, holding a pistol which he had aimed at Callen's chest. He had the slightest Russian inflection in his cultured voice, and Callen shook his head in confusion. Where the hell had these men come from? How could he have dropped his guard so much that neither he nor Sam had noticed anyone else around?

"You're coming with us," the pistol man told him.

"I don't think so!" Callen responded, trying to make eye contact with Sam, trying desperately to gauge whether his partner was truly incapacitated, or whether it was a play and Sam was waiting for a signal from him to act. He could take on one or two, but not all three, not with one waving a gun around while the other two had Sam in such a hold. What he might risk to save his own skin was different when he had Sam's life on the line too.

"I think you'll find you are," the man with the pistol told him, nodding to one of the large men holding Sam. Before Callen could even open his mouth to argue, Sam was bent over, coughing, as one of the well-muscled men delivered a fast, powerful punch into his abdomen.

"Alright!" Callen exclaimed hastily, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright. Leave him alone. I'll come with you!"

"We thought you might," the pistol man replied, grinning nastily. Turning to his colleagues he said "Take them!" And that was the last thing Callen was aware of as he felt the pistol viciously connect with the side of his head and he crumbled to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - Thank you for the positive response so far! I'll admit, one of my concerns with this story is how 'believable' it is... Those who have read my other stories will know by now I try to keep as faithful to the real characters and show facts as we know them as possible. This one sits between any actual show story arcs, so no worries there. I dare say it won't be the wackiest plot out there on FF...! However some parts of it you might have to be prepared to read nodding along saying 'yeah, yeah...' And take it for what it is - the setting and the story are less important than the relationship and insights into the characters. I will, as ever, try to do them justice._

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

Callen groaned as he shifted uncomfortably, his dazed brain slowly sorting the facts into unpleasant order. He was in a dim room, curled awkwardly in the corner between floor and wall. Concrete floor, brick wall. Cold and grey. No windows. A small skylight high above him and a door away to his left with a metal grilled glass panel, between them letting in the light he could see with, which wasn't much. Raising his head slowly, he became aware of metal handcuffs encircling his wrists, and a chain running from them securing him to a ring high up on the wall. He edged carefully into a seated position, lifting his tethered hands to gingerly touch the side of his face where he'd been hit. It was still oozing slightly and so he estimated he had been unconscious no more than an hour or two. His head pounded.

He scanned the rest of the room, anxiously seeking Sam, and felt a jolt as he saw his partner on a bed-like ledge, a concrete slab with a thin sheet of foam on top, on the far side of the small room. Sam's eyes were open, but looked vacant.

"Sam!" Callen spoke urgently, but not too loud, not wanting to draw attention to anyone possibly guarding them outside the room. He clambered to his feet and crossed the small space, but the length of the chain stopped him two feet from his partner and Callen leant on it with frustration, desperate to get to Sam. He spoke again, fear mingling with the urgency in his voice.

"Sam! Are you there, big guy? Look at me!"

Sam slowly turned his big head towards Callen, and Callen breathed a sigh of relief as he saw recognition flutter across Sam's face. His eyes wandered searchingly over his partner, seeing the cut and swelling over Sam's temple that didn't look serious enough to explain his continuing disorientation. Sam's wrists were restrained, and so were his ankles, but unlike his own wrists, Callen noticed, Sam had a length of chain between each cuff, so he could move his hands and feet a short distance apart. Sam also was not chained to the wall, and Callen pondered on that for a moment, as surely out of the two of them Sam was the more physically threatening.

Before he had time to think much more however, the door opened, and the man who had held the pistol on him at the beach walked in, closely followed by his two heavies.

"Ah good, Agent Callen, you are awake." Still the cultured voice, the slight Russian inflection. Callen tried in vain to place him, and the Russian waited expectantly.

"What have you done to him?" Callen growled, looking back to Sam, who had barely moved.

"Oh, your partner is quite okay, Agent Callen. He is just under the influence of a drug, a muscle relaxant if you will, in order to subdue him while you carry out a task for us."

Callen looked edgily from the man to his partner. He couldn't risk anything happening to Sam, he simply couldn't.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked in a low voice.

"Later, Agent Callen, later." The man nodded to one of his heavies, who took a syringe out of an inner pocket and moved over to Sam. Callen saw red and lunged towards the big guard, pulled uncomfortably short as he came to the end of the chain. He turned furiously on the pistol man, and on a silent signal the second guard tightened the chain so that Callen was abruptly stopped with his arms sharply jerked above his head and he was unable to defend himself from the wicked punch the large man delivered swiftly and strongly into his ribs.

Gasping, unable even to bend over due to the relentless pull of the chain above his head, he saw the other guard push the plunger of the syringe, emptying the contents into Sam, and he was beside himself with fury but unable to do anything about it.

The three men turned to leave.

"At least…" Callen gasped. "At least give me something to clean and dress his head wound with."

The pistol man stepped outside the room and returned with a zipped package he threw in Callen's direction. Nodding to the guard with the chain, he wordlessly left again, and the two guards kept out of Callen's reach as they lowered the chain and followed their boss. Callen could hear the door being securely locked and bolted, and he sank down onto his heels and hugged his arms around his ribs.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N - thank you again for the reviews. 'Guest' - your review made me chuckle, as I too have been wondering exactly how Callen and Sam will get OUT of what they've gotten themselves into - in a vaguely believable fashion anyway... It has been the on-going stumbling block for this story, stopping me from getting to the last chapter which is already written. I am almost there... I think! But don't worry, there's a few more chapters to go before we get to that point, so I've got time to work out the niggles!_

 _Oh - second author's note - this chapter was actually written months in advance of the airing of the Mexico premier, despite the obvious similarity in Sam checking Callen out that you will notice towards the end!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

"G?"

Callen looked up. Sam's voice was low, unsure, but his partner was definitely registering him. After sitting silently for hours watching Sam who remained absolutely still and quiet, it was an almost intolerable relief to hear him speak.

"Hey, big guy," Callen said, wincing as he got up and crossed as close to Sam as he could.

"I can't… I can't move, G."

"They drugged you," Callen told him, apologetically. He mentally cursed the chain preventing him from getting to Sam and waited with an outward demeanour of composed calm that was far from the inner agitated rage he felt inside.

"Who…" Sam's voice when he eventually spoke again was sluggish, but Callen was relieved that he seemed to be functioning mentally, albeit not at any great speed. "Who are they?"

"Don't know yet," Callen admitted. "Russian… maybe." He tested the chain again, desperate to get nearer to his partner. "Look… Can you sit up? I need to check your head wound, and…" He broke off, furious at the helpless position he was in.

Sam closed his eyes and attempted to take a deep breath. Callen swore silently in as many languages as he could think of as he powerlessly watched his partner roll slowly on to his side, his movements sluggish, uncoordinated.

"Dammit… be careful Sam," Callen couldn't help fretting.

"I'm okay." The slur to Sam's words said otherwise.

Callen watched Sam push himself so that he ended up sitting on the concrete bed, leaning back against the wall for support as he slowly looked around their cell. He took in what Callen had already explored – the thin foam covering the concrete ledge he sat on, the single door with no fittings on the inside, and in the far corner rudimentary facilities in the shape of a tap over a drain in the floor and a sturdy bucket with a lid. The only fitments in the room were a series of high rings in the wall and ceiling, one of which Callen was chained to, the vast height of the walls and ceiling rendering them out of reach. The skylight offered a small amount of light, but it was growing dark outside now. There was absolutely nothing that could be used as a weapon, nor any way that Callen could see of detaching the chain. Abducted as they had been in their running gear, Callen didn't even have his trusty bobby pin in the back pocket of his jeans which he could have used to pick the cuffs.

"Dinner was served earlier," Callen said, nodding to the corner near the door where a tray of cold pasta and two bottles of water had earlier been silently pushed in and left. "Looks very appetising and all, but I can't..." He broke off again. He'd already tried getting to the tray, and, just like Sam, it was out of his reach.

"Hell, G," Sam said sluggishly. "How long was I out for?"

"A few hours, I guess." Callen shrugged. His internal clock was usually pretty reliable, but the knock to his head and the lack of proper daylight had messed him about a bit.

"What did they do to you?" Sam asked, noticing for the first time the guarded way his partner was standing.

"Nothing. I'm fine. If you can call this," he jerked the chain frustratingly, "fine."

"They hit you," Sam said, slowly remembering.

"Ribs, then," Callen admitted reluctantly.

"Broken?"

Callen nodded. He watched the anger rise in Sam's face, and then mirror his own frustration and helplessness. With a great deal of effort, Sam shunted to the edge of the concrete ledge and Callen watched with concern as Sam lowered himself to the floor and shuffled the couple of feet over to where Callen stood waiting on his hands and knees.

"Let me look," Sam said gruffly.

"Okay, but do me a favour first?" Callen said, holding out his hands to Sam. "Let me help you to the wall." Sam nodded with grudging agreement and they staggered together like a pair of drunken lovers as Callen half dragged the unsteady bigger man to the back of the cell where they could both sit and lean against the wall together.

"Thanks," Sam muttered. "Now, lift your shirt."

"You first," Callen said. "Let me clean up your head. I've got some supplies." He leaned over to grasp the small medical pack the pistol man had given him, which he had used himself earlier to clean the dried blood off his own wound. With no mirror, he had relied on feel to tell him he had a cut about an inch long on the upper edge of his left cheekbone. He'd stemmed the last of the bleeding and covered it in antiseptic cream, and that would have to do.

Sam tried, and failed, with his doped arms, to reach up and feel the cut on the side of his own head.

"Dammit!" he swore, looking sideways at his partner as Callen found an antiseptic wipe in the medical kit.

"It probably needs stitches," Callen said pessimistically, cleaning the wound.

"Butterfly strips?" Sam suggested, and Callen rummaged deeper in the pack. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disturbed to find it was very well equipped with bandages and other medical supplies, including butterfly strips which he gently applied to close the edges of Sam's cut. "Thanks," Sam grunted. "What about your ribs?"

Despite his own assurances, Callen knew Sam wouldn't be satisfied until he had checked him out, so he twisted uncomfortably round and lifted his t-shirt for Sam to inspect the damage. His lower chest was already dark purple with bruising, and he winced as Sam clumsily pressed along each rib to ascertain which were broken.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, aware he didn't have full control of his fingers and was probably causing Callen more discomfort than he intended. "Looks like at least the bottom two cracked, but they seem to still be in line. Any trouble breathing?" Callen shook his head. His ribs were sore, but he didn't think they'd done any internal damage. Silence fell on them both again as they contemplated how much more grave their situation might be if one or both of them were seriously injured.

"I would kill for a drink right about now," Callen sighed eventually.

"I guess I'm waiting tables…" Sam tried to joke as he started to shunt across the floor. He didn't think his legs would hold him if he tried to stand. He made the same slow journey back, dragging the tray. "Dinner," he said, rolling his eyes, "Is served."


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much again for your reviews - especially JaniceS mentioning the ticking clock... thank you for vocalising exactly the journey I hoped to take the reader on thus far :-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

The two agents sat together quietly, and though they hadn't eaten all day neither of them had much appetite. Callen forced himself to eat some of the unappetising cold pasta, but for Sam it was simply too much effort. They both gratefully drank the water however, and Callen got up to refill the bottles from the tap.

"Here," he said, returning to sit down next to Sam and helping him raise the full bottle to drink, already fed up of having to do everything with his hands cuffed together.

"Thanks."

"Wasn't quite the drink I had in mind," Callen said darkly.

"Why are we here, G?"

"God I wish I knew Sam," Callen sighed. He paused for a long time before continuing. "They know who I am."

Sam turned his head to look full on at his partner, and although Callen could see the effects of the drug in his eyes, he knew Sam understood the implications of what he'd just said.

"They want me to do something for them."

"What?"

"They haven't said yet!" In frustration, Callen thumped his water bottle down on the floor, rattling the chain noisily.

"Do you think…" Sam paused. "The mole? We got the mole… didn't we?" Callen heard the uncertainty in Sam's voice.

"I thought we did. We all thought we did. But…"

"After Michelle," Sam said tightly. "I thought that was the end of it. But this…" He gestured clumsily around the room. "This is well planned, G."

"I know."

"If they know who you are…" Sam looked desperately at Callen. "The kids, G…" He paused, distress in his eyes and his voice. "I can't lose them too."

"The kids are fine, Sam. Aiden and Kam… They'll be fine. I'll… I'll do whatever they want. I won't let them hurt you or your family." Callen spoke with conviction. He would die before he let anything happen to Sam or his children, even before they'd lost Michelle, but especially now. They were quiet again for a long time. Callen's mind was racing and he forced himself to sit still beside his incapacitated partner. He hadn't recognised any of their assailants, but the pistol man at least clearly knew him. How? What could they possibly want from him, and why had they dragged Sam into it? Callen answered the last question himself, darkly, full of guilt. Sam was the insurance package, the leverage to get him to do whatever it was they wanted.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he finally said, in a low voice. "Whatever this is, I'm sorry you've been dragged into it because of me." Sam didn't respond and Callen turned to him with concern, but Sam was still awake and when he spoke, he was lucid.

"We should get some sleep."

Callen thought sleep was unlikely to come easy, but he also knew it might provide a respite of sorts for Sam and so he nodded and got up, reaching his hands down to help his partner up. Sam flapped his hand dismissively, but Callen insisted.

"Look, one of us might as well be comfortable. There's a bed over there with your name on it. Might not be the Hilton, but at least it's better than the floor."

"What about you?"

"There's a blanket." They each had one, Callen had discovered. Old grey camping blankets, well used, but thick and warm. "I've slept in worse conditions, just about." He tried to make light of it as he helped Sam struggle to his feet and stumble across the room with uncoordinated movements. Two feet from the side of the room with the ledge, the chain again stopped him short. "Can you…?" Sam grunted in reply, choosing to drop again to hands and knees on the floor to finish the journey. Callen watched, trying not to let the fear of what the drug might be doing to his partner show, as Sam pulled himself clumsily up onto the bed. His restraints clinked gently as he tried to get himself comfortable under the blanket, and Callen stood silently in the centre of the room, restricted by his chain, looking over his partner for a long time after Sam fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N - damn, writing is HARD sometimes. All those blank pages, and you have ideas floating just out of reach in your head... I've got writer's block on chapters nine and ten at the moment..! Wish me - and our boys - luck! ;-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

Callen woke cold and stiff when the first flickers of daylight penetrated the dirty skylight and dimly lit the grey cell. He was curled again on the floor as he had been when he regained consciousness the previous day and once again he shifted until he was sitting with his back against the wall. He was surprised to see Sam awake and already sitting up on the concrete ledge, watching him intently.

"You did get some sleep then," Sam stated, looking relieved to see Callen stirring.

"I guess so," Callen yawned wearily, wincing as he stretched. Still the same hands cuffed together, still the same goddam chain. "You?"

"Reasonable," Sam admitted. "I had some help though…" Even in the dim light, Callen could see Sam's eyes were still doped, though there was less of a slur on his words this morning. "You want something to eat?" Callen looked over to the door and there was the tray again, with cold toast this time along with two more bottles of water. He understood Sam's earlier relief; it wasn't normal for him to have slept through the noises made by the door being opened and the tray pushed in, and with a sickening jolt Callen considered the possibility of their evening food or drink having been drugged.

"I guess so," he said again. "If you can…?" He jerked the chain with frustration. He didn't feel drugged, but his head still ached and he put both the pain and his unusual deep sleep down to a concussion from the blow that had rendered him unconscious on the beach just twenty-four hours ago. The hours might be dragging for his mind, but his body was telling him he needed more time to recover.

"I got it," Sam said, and they repeated their actions of the previous evening, sitting together against the back wall to eat and drink. Nothing about their situation looked an awful lot better than the previous day. Callen shot intermittent sideways glances at Sam. He had seen little of his partner since Michelle died, though not through lack of trying. Sam had been taking the 'escape and evade' tactic all too literally. Now, even without the worrying effects of the drug, Callen didn't like what he was seeing. He didn't like to use the term 'depressed', but there was an apathy about his partner, an indifferent acceptance that what was happening to them both now was inevitable, a punishment almost, for how he had failed to save his wife. Callen needed him to snap out of it, and with some guilt he played the only card he could think of, hissing as he moved his cuffed hands to the side to reach for one of the water bottles.

"You okay?" Sam asked with instant concern. "Your ribs?" Callen noted how Sam didn't miss how he let the hands that he had been surreptitiously holding to his ribs fall slowly back into his lap as his partner turned to look him over. Sam's concern for himself might be at rock bottom, but he was still instinctively looking out for Callen - and that Callen had counted on.

"It's fine, Sam," he said calmly. "Just a twinge when I moved." Sam looked only partially reassured, but Callen was pleased to see some emotion surfacing from the listless demeanour. He started to speak again but they both tensed as they heard the cell door being opened. Callen scrambled defensively to his feet, putting himself between Sam and the door.

"Why good morning Agent Callen!" Their pistol wielding assailant greeted them cheerfully, far too cheerfully Callen thought, fighting the urge to attack the smiling man flanked as he was by his two broad heavies. "I am glad to see you have eaten your breakfast. We must start work today!"

"You need to tell me what you want first," Callen said flatly.

"Yes," the man said. "But not here." He turned to his two guards, a step behind. "Take him." Callen bristled, and he felt Sam behind him start to clamber ungainly to his feet. "It would seem the effects of our drug are wearing off on your friend," the pistol man said pointedly.

"Leave him out of this!" Callen growled. "I've already said I'll do what you want. Why don't you just tell me what that is?"

"Not here," the pistol man repeated, and nodded to one of the guards, who produced a syringe again from his pocket.

"Don't you dare..!" Callen yelled furiously, and behind him, still on the floor with his legs failing to cooperate, Sam raised his arms to try and defend himself from the oncoming guard.

"I wouldn't resist, if I were you," the pistol man cautioned directly to Sam, but the adrenaline had risen in both of them now, and they were ready to try and fight their way out, regardless of their restraints. Callen moved to help Sam up so they could take on the heavy with the syringe, but in doing so he dropped his guard on the second man who in a single swift motion pulled the chains to secure Callen's arms above his head again and pinned a bulky arm across Callen's neck. He slammed Callen back against the wall, and held him there, half strangling him. Sam stumbled, still uncoordinated, and looked in horror at his partner. Callen writhed desperately to escape, struggling to breathe under the weight of the man's arm across his throat. "I did warn you," the pistol man said to Sam with a sideways smile.

"Sam!" Callen choked. "Don't… let… them… Sam!" But Sam was still too drugged to have full control of his movements, and he wasn't able to stop the guard from once again plunging the syringe into his leg. Only when the syringe was empty and the drug was starting to take effect did the guard restraining Callen release his hold, and Callen stumbled forwards, still with his arms chained high above his head, coughing and gasping as he was finally able to take in air properly. Before he had fully caught his breath, the guard roughly pulled a dark hood over his head, and he felt the chain being lowered and unlocked from his cuffs, and then both guards were man-handling him out of the room, leaving Sam collapsed on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN - sorry, sorry! Still struggling with getting them out of the wretched cell lol... that and pre-Christmas workload leaving no time for writing :-(_

 _It's worth noting that, once again, despite the slight parallel to season 10, this chapter was written months before The Patton Project aired ;-)_

 _Your reviews are, as ever, appreciated x_

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX**

Blinded by the hood, Callen was at the mercy of the two guards who dragged him down a long corridor and into another room. He tried not to make it easy for them, but all his struggles achieved was to turn the nagging ache of his cracked ribs into a more acute pain, and he hissed as he was flung roughly into a chair and secured by a tight strap around his upper arms and chest. His cuffed hands rested in his lap, and he writhed against the strap but his efforts were futile, which didn't stop him trying. He heard the door to the room slam and finally the hood was pulled off and he was able to see his captor moving to sit opposite him.

They were in another grey room, similar to the cell he and Sam had been imprisoned in. A desk of sorts over to one side, the chair he was secured to, and another chair where the pistol man now sat with his legs crossed comfortably, watching him. Not a sound could be heard except Callen's heavy breathing. An empty, uninformative room, oppressive and cold. Callen returned the stare and waited with little patience.

"Well, Agent Callen," the man eventually said smoothly. "I would like to discuss the role we have in mind for you." He made it sound for all the world as if he were conducting a job interview.

"Why me?"

"You used to work for the CIA."

"So?" Callen challenged. "So did a lot of people. So why me?"

"Fifteen years ago, you infiltrated a Russian oil company and got close to their CEO, Orel Volkov. We need you to re-establish your cover in that organisation."

"Why?" Callen asked suspiciously.

"Because we need that CEO taken out. Discretely."

"There must be dozens of mercenaries you can go to for that. Why go to all this trouble?" Callen raised his cuffed hands as much as he could to indicate his and Sam's imprisonment.

"Very few with your skill set, Agent Callen. You see, this has to be the perfect murder. As you know, Mr Volkov values his privacy, and so not many have ever managed to get close to him. You, however, have. You gained his trust, you were the head of his security detail. You can get close to him without arousing suspicion. We need his untimely death to go completely uninvestigated."

A million questions raced through Callen's mind but he kept his face blank.

"So you think I can just walk back up to him now, after all this time, without arousing suspicion?"

"It'll be all the worse for your partner if you don't, Agent Callen. Think on that now." The man rose and knocked on the door for his two heavies. "Take him back to his room!"

Callen was unable to do anything as the two large guards once again pulled the hood over his head, unfastened the strap and grabbed his arms to drag him back to the cell with Sam. He heard them secure the chain back round his cuffs, and he scuffled furiously, but as he was unable to see what he was doing all it earned him was the guard behind him kicking him fiercely in the back of the knees, so that he dropped to the floor. He pulled the hood off in time to see the door slammed shut with a resounding bang that echoed in the dim grey room.

Sam was still lying on the floor, the earlier top up of the drug rendering him immobile. Callen swore, loudly, in Russian, Romanian and finally English.

"Are you done with your filthy language lesson?" Sam spoke wearily, not opening his eyes.

"Sorry."

"What do they want?"

"They want me to kill the Russian CEO of an oil company I infiltrated with the CIA fifteen years ago," Callen said flatly, with distaste.

"Shit, G!" Sam opened his eyes, and tried to sit up, but the effects of the drug were still too strong. "You can't do it!"

"I'm going to have to think of something," Callen said grimly, gesturing to encompass himself, Sam and the miserable grey cell. "What else can I do?"


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N - okay, so where did 2018 go?! I do apologise! 2019 thus far hasn't left much time for writing (or reading, for that matter) and I am trying desperately to get back to both. I hope you're all still with me._

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

The two agents stared at each other silently. Sam still lay on the floor and Callen shuffled to sit back against the wall with his wrists pressed over his sore ribs in such a way that he hoped Sam wouldn't notice.

"Why you?" Sam eventually asked. One of many questions - but at least this one Callen could answer.

"Volkov – Orel Volkov – he's the CEO of a large Russian oil company – he's a paranoid man. Has a very small inner circle. It took me over a year to get close to him. I ended up head of his security detail. He's responsible for some, err, less than legal business manoeuvring, so he's careful, very careful who he trusts. The CIA loaned me as part of a joint task force because they thought he was also involved in some nuclear weapons dealings, but that turned out to be misinformation. We never did find out the source of those rumours."

There was silence while Sam processed the information. Callen clenched his jaw. At least Sam was awake and talking to him, but his mental cogs were turning like a rusty old bicycle, while Callen's mind raced at top speed. He took a deep, slow breath and waited.

"Why did they loan you?"

"The usual. They could pass me off as a Russian," Callen explained. "Volkov will only employ Russians, and only those he has carefully checked. So it took a long time to infiltrate his company and get close to him."

"I can see that it would," Sam agreed slowly. "But why do these maniacs," he weakly flapped a hand to indicate the cell and their predicament, "want him dead?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Callen said. "Whatever the reason, they don't want it linked back to them, or to be too carefully investigated. They want it to appear accidental. The perfect murder."

"Maybe there is something in the nuclear weapons rumours…" Callen had to give Sam credit for trying.

"Maybe… but it doesn't track, not with the Volkov I knew anyway. He pulled some fast ones business-wise, but only for the purpose of expanding his company, which is now the largest oil corporation in Russia by the way, and still expanding as far as I know. There was absolutely no indication of him being involved in any kind of arms or weapons, or anything else like that. He's a hard-nosed businessman who cares only for himself and his wealth, but I don't see why that warrants anyone going to all this trouble to get him killed."

Another long silence. Callen kept the frustration he felt carefully concealed. It wasn't Sam's fault. He spent the time trying desperately to make sense of what little facts he knew, as if that would help them.

"Rival company?" Sam eventually suggested.

"It's a possibility, I guess. When the op fifteen years ago was ended the powers that be decided the unsubstantiated weapons rumours were put about by a business rival, to try and discredit Volkov, maybe even lose him his company. But this feels all too calculated and below the belt to be purely business. Extremism, fanaticism… not corporate warfare. I mean, these guys are seriously obsessive if they think they can kidnap two feds and force us to murder someone in the hope of damaging his company for their own gain. And why now, for Christ's sake? He's been ruthlessly growing his company for almost two decades. It doesn't make any sense!" Callen ran dry, and both agents looked at each other helplessly.

"Force you," Sam said in the end.

"Force me," Callen agreed.

"By using me," Sam said baldly.

"I will think of something." Callen spoke each word forcefully with a confidence he wasn't quite sure he felt, but it had the desired effect as, for all the seriousness of their situation, Sam quietly chuckled.

"You usually do."

Their brief moment of positivity was broken by the sound of the door being unlocked again. Callen stood, warily, knowing with Sam recently drugged again they were both at the mercy of their captors.

"Agent Callen, it is time for your assignment to begin." The pistol man spoke from the doorway, well out of Callen's reach. "Please, go with Ivan now. He will supervise you getting cleaned up and changed into some more suitable clothes." Callen looked down at the sweat-stained running gear he still wore. "Do not worry," the pistol man continued. "Leo and I will keep an eye on your friend here while you are absent." He spoke pointedly, and Callen detected the hidden warning and didn't put up a struggle as one of the muscle men, Ivan presumably, approached him with a degree of caution, leaving his hands cuffed together but removing the chain. Callen looked helplessly at Sam, the worry clear in his eyes, but Sam stared back at him trustingly and Callen maintained eye contact until a hood was pulled firmly over his head and he was pushed out of the room. He wasn't taken as far this time, just the next doorway along the corridor, Callen surmised, as he was pushed roughly in to a small and very basic shower room. Ivan unlocked one of his cuffs, leaving the other dangling on his wrist, before backing quickly through the door and locking it. Callen pulled the hood off to see a suit hanging on a peg on the wall, next to a towel. For him, evidently.

He cursed again in Russian as he discovered the water was cold. He'd been provided only with a bar of soap, nothing to shave with, nothing that could possibly be used as a weapon. Sighing, but knowing it had been unlikely to be that easy, he got dried and dressed in the suit. All the clothes, right down to the underwear and shoes, were his exact size, confirming his and Sam's suspicions that everything about their abduction and the task he had been ordered to do had been well thought out and meticulously researched. It didn't give him any comfort at all.


	8. Chapter 8

_Well here I am dragging myself back to this shocker of a story... It's funny isn't it - the longer you don't write for, the harder it gets. I am filled with The Fear, publishing this, not helped by general 'life stuff' having been high stress/anxiety for a few months now. And along with The Fear is The Guilt - I promised I would never leave a story unfinished, but the longer it's left, the harder it is to come back and pray that's it's worthy of a read! Poor Callen and Sam really have been stuck in this wretched Cell long enough now though... Sadly although this story has been in my thoughts (Fearfully and Guiltily) for the past few months, I still haven't quite worked out chaps 9-11 how they're going to get out! Here's hoping Callen thinks of something, and quickly! ;)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

Callen was almost thankful when at the end of the day he found himself once again cuffed and chained in the cell. Pulling the hood off his head, he saw Sam lying on the concrete slab, still clearly drugged but unharmed. Relief washed over him, releasing the subtle tensions of the day in his back and neck. His cracked ribs were aching tiresomely. What he wouldn't give for a relaxing swim and a hot shower, he thought, massaging his hands down the back of his neck. The chain clinked irritatingly round his ears.

"Tough day?" Sam said groggily, watching him.

"Something like that," Callen replied as he put his finger to his lips. He needed to check things out before saying more. He scanned the room, taking in every grey detail now intimately known, before carefully examining the clothes he had been given to change into for the night. His suit had been taken away, to keep tidy for the next day he guessed. A quick look in the restroom at lunchtime had confirmed a tracker was sewn into the cuff of his jacket, and he suspected that wasn't the only way he was being tracked whilst he was relatively free during the day. But he wanted to be certain before talking to Sam that there were no bugs in their cell. It maddened him that it hadn't occurred to him to check before now, but it hadn't exactly been his top priority.

Sam recognised what Callen was doing and sluggishly got up, leaning precariously forward to run his hands under the concrete ledge as he checked for any listening devices or hidden cameras. Once done, he got down on his hands and knees and carefully examined the area under the ledge, knowing Callen couldn't reach that far. Callen nodded, grateful, and continued his sweep of the rest of the room.

Only when he was satisfied that all was clear did he begin to tell Sam about his day. For Sam's sake, he remained outwardly hopeful he could formulate an escape plan for them both, but he needed to pool knowledge with his partner.

"I've no idea where we are. They won't even take me out of here to shower without pulling a hood over my head. Volkov is apparently occupying the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons…" Sam let out a whistle. "Yeah, I know. That place is like ten grand a night. I haven't seen him yet… They tell me he's in LA for two weeks for some environmental summit, as a guest speaker. They've back-stopped me as security for another guest staying in the hotel, supposedly a businessman here on holiday from the Motherland, but I think he's involved in all this somehow. They're monitoring me closely," he told Sam. "An earwig, trackers, the phone they let me have is bugged. They've got multiple people in the hotel watching me, I'm certain."

"You don't know who yet?"

"Not yet, but I'll spot them before long," Callen said confidently.

"Depends how many of them there are," Sam responded gloomily. "They could circulate different people every day. Could be hotel employees on their payroll." He paused, worn out. "How long are you supposed to be keeping up this game anyway?"

"Why, you got somewhere to be? The fish missing you?" Callen made an attempt at engaging Sam in some of their customary banter.

"I guess not," Sam said. He was unable to shift his depressed mood.

"I'll get us out of here." Callen was emphatic. There was no alternative in his mind, but Sam wasn't so sure. The sedative he was constantly being given was messing with his head and being alone in the dim cell all day without Callen had tested his mental capacity, already stretched thin, to new extremes.

"I hope so, G. But how?" Sam wearily opened his hands as far apart as his chain would allow in a gesture that conveyed the hopelessness he felt. Callen looked at him, trying not to let the doubt he felt deep down show. Their whole kidnapping, and the monitoring of him whilst he was out of the cell, had been meticulously planned, and currently he had more qualms than conviction. He realised Sam was still waiting for an answer, and so he gave him one of sorts.

"How did your day go?"

Sam eyed Callen disdainfully, and Callen could see the cogs whirring, could see Sam wondering if he was being serious. Eventually Sam seemed to realise his scheming partner was trying to gather all the intel he could in order to plan their escape, and so rather than unleashing the scathing reply that would normally have been on the tip of his tongue, he responded as helpfully as he could. Callen was grateful, though in some ways he'd have preferred Sam to vent some of his frustration, to show some anger, some fear even. Anything but the flat apathetic demeanour that was so unlike his partner. So unlike how his partner _used_ to be, Callen corrected himself. Before his world was turned upside down when Michelle was taken so cruelly from him.

"I can't see that it'll be much help," Sam confessed. "If I don't see something other than these four walls soon I'm going to go crazy... The only highlight was your pistol-wielding Russian friend visiting in the afternoon to threaten all sorts of dire things he would do to you if I made any attempt to resist his hospitality… namely whatever muck he's got in that syringe. They're willing to kill both of us, G... If I mess them around, you'll be coming back here in a body bag. And then they've got no use for me."

"They've said much the same to me about you," Callen admitted. He didn't tell Sam the additional threats the pistol man had made in the basement of the Four Seasons before sending him out to start his task – they knew Sam's name too. And they knew about Aiden and Kam. The cold truth of that had haunted him all day, distracting him when he needed to remain focused. He simply had to keep Sam and his family safe, no matter what.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N. Urgh. I've had this written for a while, and I still don't think I like it. A transitional chapter I guess. On the plus side, getting close to wrapping things up now :) To those worrying about the delay between chapters - rest assured I haven't abandoned it at all - it's just been a tough few months... It's been immensely frustrating and I wish I hadn't started posting til I'd got a better handle on the writing (but then I didn't know at the time Life was going to get so spectacularly busy!)_

 _I appreciate there are some loose ends - some will get answered but most are not what the story was about... It was only ever intended to be a 'vehicle' to explain some of Sam's journey of grief in the gap between losing his wife, and returning to work. I hope it therefore won't be a disappointment if you stick with it to the end._

 _I felt like Callen was very frivolous in the S9 premiere, and maybe the relief and gratitude at having Sam back after such a quiet and desperate time in **The Cell** had something to do with that ;)_

* * *

CHAPTER NINE

The following two days and nights passed slowly, with the accumulative effects of the drug taking their toll on Sam, and Callen returning tired to the cell every evening. He still wasn't sure he had worked out everyone on the bad guys payroll in the hotel, which left him worried about Sam's state of mind if their imprisonment went on much longer. But he had made some progress in his operation. In both his operations – the one his Russian pistol-wielding acquaintance was monitoring, and the one far more important in Callen's eyes – that of planning his and Sam's escape.

It was an indication of Sam's depressed state of mind, as well as the continually drugged state of his body, Callen thought, that his partner made no effort to subdue their assailants, whether he was alone or with Callen there. Guilt and grief over Michelle's untimely passing had left Sam trapped in a mental hell that was as imprisoning as the grey walls that surrounded them, and it was as limiting as any physical restraint.

Callen wasn't quite sure he knew how to handle this changed Sam, or whether there was any coming back for them as partners, as a team. It didn't stop him trying his damnest to plan a way that would see them all – Kam and Aiden most definitely included – out of this mess unscathed.

There were many times where Callen wondered if he ought to divulge the information he had kept secret for the past two days: whether he ought to let Sam know that Aiden and Kam were at risk if either he or Callen tried anything rash. But Sam didn't seem to be of the mindset to try anything at all, and so Callen made the decision to protect him from further worry and pain.

He was worrying enough for the both of them anyway.

The effects of the drug seemed to be accumulative. Sam's movements grew ever more listless, and Callen struggled now to remember how his partner sounded without the drunken slur on his words. Sam spent a lot of his time in a half-dazed sleep, and though he mostly seemed aware and lucid when he was awake, there had been a horrible moment the previous night when Sam had woken in the dark, crying out for Michelle.

Unable to reach him physically, Callen had just his voice to soothe his partner, just words to try and calm the confused storms in Sam's mind, only to replace them with the nightmare that was the current present. Callen's words reverberated in his own head again and again, brutal, taunting him, making him re-live what he'd rather forget. Having to break to Sam once again that his wife was dead… Michelle was dead… it nearly broke him. He hoped Sam would not remember the exchange.

Restrained hopelessly by his chain in the middle of the cold, dark cell after Sam had drifted back to sleep, Callen was left feeling drained and bereft, and filled with a sense of urgency that wasn't helping him put his tentative plans into action.

He was making enough progress to appease his Russian assailant that he was at least trying to carry out the murderous objective he had been tasked with. On day two, he had made contact with Volkov by way of a staged incident that caused the conference room where Volkov, along with his security team, were in attendance to be evacuated. Feigning surprise, he had greeted his old boss with warm recognition, making innocent small talk in fluent Russian whilst trying to find out more about Volkov's visit. He used the time to scrutinise Volkov's security team and as he had expected, they were tight, on top of their game. But he had nonetheless managed to drug one of their bottles of water with some ground up sleeping pills, the tactic reminding him a little of the operation he and Sam had worked over a year ago with the Koreans. He was planning very similar; to down one of their men, and hope that Volkov would take the bait and come to a known and dependable man, a man he believed to be a fellow Russian in this foreign country of people he didn't trust, for help. Callen had discovered the big day, the day when Volkov would most want to feel protected and he was therefore most likely to be needed for security, was now in just two days time. Then, Volkov would be travelling to another local hotel to speak as a guest at the environmental summit he was in the country for. That would also be the opportunity his Russian assailant would expect him to make the most of, and so that was the deadline he had to work towards to get him and Sam out. He thought he could tie the opportunity in with the plan he had in mind. It was risky, and it relied on timing, and probably some help he hadn't yet managed to procure, but it was looking like the only choice.

He had recounted the tale of how he had managed to drug the water bottle to Sam, making a joke of it, hoping to rouse in Sam some humour and positivity from the similarity of the escapade with the Koreans. That had all turned out okay, he implied, and now so would this. But the subtlety seemed lost on Sam in his drugged state, and maybe making light of how easy it was to incapacitate someone through a hidden drug wasn't the best idea, Callen thought. So the two of them spent most of their time in silence, and though Callen liked and often chose to spend long spells on his own, as the days passed he was finding it increasingly wearing. His half-formed plans to escape filled his mind constantly as he played out every scenario he could think of, and he realised how accustomed he had become to being part of team when he found himself missing having someone to bounce his ideas off. Keeping Sam safe was the priority, along with not risking anything happening to Sam's family. These responsibilities weighed heavily on Callen, and restricted him far more than the physical restraints and monitoring imposed on him by his captors. Round and round his thoughts whirred, and driven to indecision through the enforced solitude, he had yet to settle on a safe and workable solution.


	10. Chapter 10

_My God, I think I've actually finished it! Remaining chapters will get posted quicker now. Thank you for your patience!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER TEN**

Indecisive though he still might be, having some sort of a plan gave Callen a degree of comfort and renewed resolve, and his day at the hotel brought forth new hope in the form of an unexpected ally. He still had doubts about the viability of it all, but they'd pulled off crazier things in their time. He shut his mind to the knowledge that he'd had his whole team with him for most of their escapades. Now it was just him and his broken partner. He wished he could at least talk his plans over with Sam, see if there was anything he might have missed.

He looked over to where Sam lay still sleeping. Sam had made no mention the previous day of his disturbed sleep in the preceding night, and Callen was hopeful he had in fact forgotten about it. He rested his head on his knees again, bone tired of the dim cell, the cuffs, the whole damn charade.

"G?" Sam's voice, low and hoarse, made him jump; Sam hadn't spoken a word in over 36 hours and the last time he'd heard his partner make a sound had been in the darkness of the night, crying out for his dead wife.

"Hey," Callen replied, lifting his head. Sam had rolled on to his side and was lying looking at him. The big brown eyes were uncharacteristically dull and emotionless.

"G… the other night…"

"Don't," Callen said, quickly, firmly. "Whatever you're going to say, Sam, don't. Just forget it." Sam stared at him, long and hard and, unusually, Callen couldn't tell what his partner was thinking.

"Nothing makes any sense," Sam said eventually.

"I don't know how to stop them drugging you," Callen said with a sudden wild fury, rising angrily to pace the small area like a caged tiger.

"You can't," Sam said flatly. "Don't worry about it."

"Well I am worried, Sam! This isn't doing you any good!" Callen yanked violently on the chain tethering him to the ceiling, and when that yielded no results, he punched the wall in front of him: a hard, sharp jab he felt ricocheting up through his arm to his jaw.

"G…" Sam's voice grounded him, and Callen turned once again to look at his partner. Sam was too lethargic to even move, but in the moment their eyes connected, Callen saw a glimpse of concern briefly flicker and die in the drugged eyes. He felt a tidal wave of emotion threatening to over-power him and he fought hard to keep his feelings under control. Losing it wasn't going to help either of them. He curled and uncurled the fingers of his right hand, wincing at the abrasive effects the cell wall had had on his knuckles. Taking a deep breath, he held Sam's gaze, and nodded.

"I'm good," he finally said.

Silence took over once more, but eventually Sam spoke again.

"I'm not helping you," he said, slowly, and Callen got the distinct impression Sam had been planning this speech for a while. He carried on talking over Callen's grunt of disapproval. "You should forget about me. Get yourself out."

"Don't be ridiculous," Callen said firmly. "That's the drugs talking, and you know it. There's only one way out of this, and that's with both of us leaving here together." Sam made a dismissive flap with his hand. "I mean it, Sam! Kam and Aiden, they've already lost their mum. Do you think I'm going to let them lose their dad too, just to save my own skin? Don't be stupid." Callen felt a hint of guilt bringing Sam's children into it, but maybe his partner needed reminding what he still had to live for. Sam was silent for a long time.

"Is there a plan then?" he eventually asked, but there was no hope in his words.

"Sort of," Callen admitted.

"Want to share?"

Oh, how Callen rejoiced to hear those words. He realised how desperate he had been to have his partner back – not just here and now in the grey cell, but for the past few months. Work simply hadn't been the same. They worked well together, completed each other, as Sam had said once. He didn't doubt for a second that Sam's casual words were a sudden end to his partner's ostracization – but it was a spark, a start. An interest in his own survival. Better than nothing.

"They're fanatics," Callen started. "Environmental fanatics. This isn't about power, or money, or even about Volkov, save for the fact he is the CEO of the company. He – his company – has plans in place for a new oil pipeline that will cut through some sacred area these fanatics are, well, fanatical about." He watched Sam try to process the information, trying not to show the elation he felt as Sam fumbled to sit up so they could talk better.

"How….?" Sam paused, taking a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, his wit. He hadn't really cared when Callen first hinted there was a plan, but now, deep down inside him, he felt a small stirring of an inner fire he'd thought had long since been extinguished. Michelle was gone, there was no changing that. But maybe there was still a future without her. If nothing else, he owed it to his children to provide a life for them, be the best half a parenting team that he could. Above all, keep them safe. He needed to be alive to do that.

"How is that relevant?" Callen completed Sam's question for him. Sam nodded, and settled as comfortably as he could on the concrete bench. Callen sat cross-legged on the floor in the centre of the cell, as close to Sam as his chain allowed. "With Volkov out of the picture, the second in command of the company is sympathetic with this crazy group's ideals," Callen continued.

"So that's why it has to look like an accident," Sam affirmed, and Callen nodded. He couldn't hide his relief that after the many days of drugs Sam's perception was not totally gone.

"If his death is put down to an unfortunate accident, natural causes, whatever… the second in command can take control of the company, steer it in a different direction. No new pipeline, no deforestation; peace - in the eyes of the environmental extremists - will be restored." Callen rolled his eyes.

"It seems a crazy plan," Sam muttered. Callen almost laughed.

"They're fanatics, Sam. It's in the job description. Remember DNA and the cyanide? Not so very different."

Sam sighed. Callen had been lucky not to lose his life to the cyanide; lucky, and prepared, with his full team for back up when he needed it. Not cut off, like this, with Sam a metaphorical millstone round his neck, restrained and useless, here only as leverage to keep Callen under control. He looked worriedly at his partner, sitting there calmly on the cold grey floor, and shook his head with weary sorrow. "How the hell are you going to pull this one off?"


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N - for those hoping for a big action scene - remember, this was never about 'the cell'..._

* * *

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The following day, even as he went about putting the plan in action, Callen had renewed doubts about his ability to pull it all off. They weren't doubts he had shared with his partner, and in fact he blamed the negative thoughts on his worry for Sam and the children clouding his judgement. There was no other option, he thought grimly, he had to pull it off. And anyway, with the wheels already in motion for some parts of his plan, it was too late now for doubts.

He thought back to his conversation with Sam the previous morning.

"I have a secret weapon," Callen had answered Sam's worried question, with a hint of his light-hearted smirk in place.

"You have… what?" Sam shook his head, but the dullness from the drugs played havoc with his abilities to keep up with his partner.

"Yeah… an ally. Arkady."

"Arkady!" Sam had exclaimed incredulously. "That man…! Why am I surprised he's involved."

"He's not 'involved' Sam…"

"He has a habit of showing up in bad places," Sam had grumbled. Callen smirked at the memory. There always had been a love-hate relationship between his partner and the big Russian.

"Be glad he has, this time," Callen had replied with a smile, but Sam had been unconvinced.

"G… do you trust him?"

"You know I do Sam," Callen sighed.

"I guess. But… the guys here are Russian. He's…"

"I trust him, Sam," Callen had reassured his partner. And for a man to whom trust didn't come easy, those were strong words.

Now, Arkady and his men were the only pieces of the puzzle he had control over. It was the other players in the game - his handler/guard Ivan, the still-unknown pistol man and the other guard Leo left behind with Sam, other members of the organisation keeping tabs on him in the hotel, even Sam himself – they were the jokers in the pack, and on them the whole house of cards could fall if he didn't get things exactly right. Callen metaphorically shrugged, trying to calm himself. If things didn't quite go to plan, he'd have to think on his feet and adapt. No problem. They'd all had to do that before. He just wished he had a way of communicating with Sam. He felt like he was asking a lot of his partner, in his current state, but they had both agreed there was simply no other way.

Sam had once again looked at him trustingly as the hood was pulled over his head and he was released from his chain to be escorted to the hotel one last time.

He adjusted the jacket he was wearing undone over his shirt. One of Arkady's bodyguards was now wearing his original jacket with the tracker sewn in. The man had his phone as well, and his earwig. With Arkady's help to convince Volkov to accept the switch, the Russian bodyguard was taking Callen's place in the convoy escorting Volkov to his summit where he was due to be a guest speaker in just a few hours' time. The convoy would be leaving within half an hour. With his captors safely believing he was carrying out his task in staying close to Volkov and engineering the car crash he had told them was his plan, he hoped to turn the tables and take capture of the guard Ivan, who took him to and from the hotel each day, forcing the man to take him back to the cell.

Back to Sam.

It should work. As long as they all believed he was still with Volkov. As long as there were no trackers on him he wasn't aware of. If they had overwatch, if they were keeping an eye on him through the hotel CCTV, he might be in trouble. But they'd been careful. Arkady's bodyguard was a reasonable match for him in stature, and dressed in his suit… If he kept his head down, if no one saw either of them up close… It should work.

It had to work.

With the convoy leaving imminently, Callen needed to stay out of sight for just a little while longer, whilst keeping Ivan in his sights until the moment was right. They couldn't arrive back at the cell too early, or Sam wouldn't be able to play his part with the guard Leo left behind. But there again, he didn't want to be too late either, in case Sam was not able to subdue Leo sufficiently on his own. And what of their unnamed Russian captor? They needed him to become the captive, so that he could be dealt with properly. There had to be no opportunity for Ivan to communicate with his pistol-wielding boss, or the whole plan would fall apart. So it was upon this delicate timing that the whole thing could go wrong. Very wrong. Callen refused to allow his mind to wander down the dark alleyways… what if Sam got hurt, or worse? What if he mishandled the timing, the capture of his guard Ivan? If Ivan was able to get word to his boss, they could all be in jeopardy, not just himself and Sam, but Aiden and Kam too. He had been monitored too closely to explain the full situation to Arkady. He had no way of getting protection to Sam's family. No way of contacting anyone he knew for help. He'd been due back from his week off this morning, but Hetty knew he had gone to track down Sam, and there wouldn't be an immediate panic regarding his absence, not this early in the day. He needed those kids safe. There was cool air conditioning in the hotel, and yet, as he prepared to put the most important part of his plan, the only part that could lead him back to the unknown location of the cell and Sam, into action, Callen sweated.

Timing was everything, and time was on his side. Callen watched from his hidden corner at the back entrance to the hotel as Volkov's motorcade pulled away. Volkov was in the back seat of the middle car, and there was his stand-in, Arkady's bodyguard, in the front passenger seat. With satisfaction, Callen crossed quickly to the silver car slowly pulling away in the motorcade's wake. In one smooth movement that gave his prey no time to retaliate, Callen opened the door, slipping into the seat behind the driver as he held a knife to his guard Ivan's throat.

"Drive," he said forcefully in Russian. "Back to the cell. Now!"


	12. Chapter 12

_Here we are, almost full circle... it frustrated me slightly in the previous chapter that I wasn't able to keep all but the first and last chapters of the story in the cell - but in order to get out, Callen had to BE out: I couldn't make it work any other way :/_

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

Clambering hurriedly out of the car even before it fully stopped, Callen heard the echo of a gun shot ring out from the low grey building. With rising fear, he quickly checked the cuffs securing his prisoner to the steering wheel, and sprinted for the door.

Inside, he felt like he knew the long grey corridor by sight despite having always been hooded when he had been taken to and from the cell to the car that had taken him to the hotel each day. He rushed down the dim grey passage, not pausing to clear the rooms he passed, but every instinct telling him the trouble originated in the far room. In the cell he and Sam had occupied the past week. Past the door of the office room where he'd been taken to be instructed about the task he and Sam had been abducted for in order for him to carry out. It stood ajar, and Callen paused for the briefest of seconds to check for his pistol-wielding Russian assailant. The office was empty. With a heightening feeling of dread, Callen sprinted past the door to the little bathroom, and stopped outside the heavy closed door of the cell.

He took a deep breath as he hesitated in the hallway. He'd heard just the one shot. One, when he knew there should have been two Russians left in the building with Sam each day. He feared what that might mean, and mentally prepared himself for the worst. With signs of strain evident in his tight shoulders and harshly drawn breath, Callen pushed the unlocked door quietly open, and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Sam, on his feet, still chained, had the pistol in one hand. His other arm was gripped fiercely round the neck of the pistol man, but his partner was flagging, Callen saw, and he rushed to Sam's aid. With the chain restricting his movements, Sam hadn't quite managed enough of a choke hold to incapacitate the Russian, and the man fought wildly as Callen wrenched his arms behind his back, fastening plastic ties around his wrists to secure him. Sam collapsed backwards in the scuffle, tripping over the guard he had shot dead before Callen arrived, but he nodded his head at Callen when his partner spun to aid him.

"Secure him properly," he grunted from the floor, and needing little encouragement, Callen dragged the pistol man to the other side of the room, where the chain that had secured him for days lay dangling awaiting his return. The clasp was open, and with satisfaction, Callen fastened it through the man's wrists, tethering him as he himself had been tethered for the past week.

"It won't make any difference," the Russian spoke, loud and clear over the panting grunts of the two men. Callen ignored him, crossing to Sam to apply his lock picks to Sam's cuffs. "You're too late!" The Russian continued spitefully. "I've already made the phone call. You've just signed the death warrant of those two children! What are their names now? Aiden and… Kam? Such a pretty young girl." He spoke with a smile, taunting. "Such a shame she will not now live to grow up. But at least she will get to join her mother."

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded furiously, pushing roughly past Callen and advancing on the Russian with movements still clumsy and uncoordinated. "How do you know about my kids?"

With urgency, Callen patted down the dead guard on the floor beside him, finding a cell phone in an inner pocket. He quickly dialled Ops, thanking the fates when Eric picked up the phone at the first ring.

"Eric, it's Callen…" He barely heard Eric agitatedly squawking at the other end. "Look, I've no time to explain. I need you to get a guard on Sam's kids. Right now, okay?" He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the tech already briefing Nell to call the military school, and when Eric was back on the line he asked him to send an ambulance to his current location. Eric, palpably concerned, started to ask for details, but out of the corner of his eye Callen saw Sam unsatisfied with the punch he had landed on the smirking Russian pistol man. With murder clear in his eyes, Sam was raising the pistol man's own gun on him. His trembling muscles aimed straight for the man's heart.

"Eric, I'll call you back," Callen said urgently. "Just keep Sam's kids safe!" He dropped the phone and grabbed hold of Sam with both arms, struggling to control the furious strength in his grief-stricken partner.

"We need him alive, Sam!" he yelled. "We need to know…. Look, let's take this outside, okay?" The Russian's smirking face infuriated Callen even as he pulled Sam by the arm out of the building, knowing full well if Sam weren't still suffering the effects of the drug he didn't stand a chance of pulling his partner off the man who had threatened his family. It took all his strength, but, panting hard, he managed to shove Sam into the daylight, slamming the door behind them on the Russian's taunting smile.


	13. Chapter 13

_The end :( I've had this chapter written for so long, and, as you do, I'm now worrying I haven't got it right after all! Callen and Sam are my favourites, so I hope I have done them justice here, and filled in some of Sam's journey of grief between S8 and S9._

* * *

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Sam turned furiously on Callen, waving the gun he still held wildly in Callen's face. "You didn't tell me!" he yelled. "They're my kids, and you lied to me!" Callen unconsciously took a step backwards. Sam armed and furious was an intimidating sight even to those who knew him.

"I didn't lie," Callen said calmly, working to even out his panting breaths as he wrapped an arm round his healing ribs.

"You didn't tell me you knew - you KNEW - those bastards know about my family! My KIDS were in danger, G, and you didn't tell me!" There was still a faint slur to Sam's words, and the lingering effects of the drugs flickered in his eyes.

"They weren't in danger as long as I did everything they wanted," Callen said placatingly.

"You still lied!" Sam was barely containing himself, balling his left fist angrily at his side while his right hand twitched on the weapon.

"I didn't lie, Sam. I just didn't tell you what you didn't need to know."

"What I…! Lies of omission are still lies, god dammit! What makes you get to decide what I needed to know?"

Callen shrugged, spreading his hands defencelessly, and his calm demeanour was suddenly too much for Sam, who let out all the pent-up frustrations of the past week and slammed the butt of the gun into Callen's jaw. Callen reeled backwards onto the floor and he supposed he should be thankful that the incapacitating drug still coursed Sam's veins, that his partner's full muscular power wasn't packed behind the furious punch. He ran his tongue across his split lip and recognised the familiar metallic taste of blood, but he didn't retaliate. He slowly stood up, and raised his hand to wipe the blood, looking Sam fully in the eyes.

"Tell me honestly, Sam, what good would it have done? If you had known? If you had known but been unable to do anything about it in that goddam cell? I was trying to protect you."

"I don't need protecting," Sam said sullenly. His shoulders started to lose some of their aggressive tension at last.

"I think in this case you did. I needed you focused Sam. I needed you to be able to help me get us out of here, not have you paralysed worrying about your family, or going off on some hell-bent mission of your own! They were in no danger while I was cooperating, and as soon as there was a risk, I called Eric and got a guard on them. I will ALWAYS protect your family, Sam. Always." Callen remained calm, but there was undeniable conviction in his voice, and Sam finally sighed and loosened his strained shoulders, and looked at Callen with a mix of sadness and shame in his eyes.

"I'm not like you, G," he said in a low voice, by way of apology. "I can't do what you do, compartmentalise the way you do."

"I…" Callen felt helpless. It was just who he was. Put things in a box in order to get a job done. He'd never had the family ties, the emotions that Sam had. He knew he came across as detached and cold sometimes. But he also knew it was necessary in order to be able to do the job he did, to be able to survive the positions he was often put in for the greater good. He shrugged, an explanation impossible.

Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry for hitting you."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. You've had a hell of a week too, and somehow you've managed to get us both through it in one piece."

"Are we in one piece? Are we good, Sam?"

"We're good," Sam said gruffly, clumsily clapping his partner on the shoulder in an embarrassed gesture of apology. "We're good."

"Are you going to come back?"

"I…" Sam stumbled. "I'm still not ready G," he admitted. "I don't know if I ever will be. But I'm going to go visit the kids, and spend some time on my own… and maybe we'll see."

"Okay," Callen responded lightly. He recognised that pushing Sam now would not bring him back, but only push him yet further away. He reached out his hand to take the weapon and Sam passed it to him with an air of finality. His eyes hovered sadly over the cut on Callen's lip. Callen saw the direction of his gaze, and spoke light-heartedly, with a ghost of his trademark smirk in place. "Say hi to Kam and Aiden, and let me know when you're back... I'll stop by for that beer. God knows we deserve one!"

Turning to leave, Sam gave him a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Callen watched as his partner shunned the attentions from the hovering ambulance crew and walked slowly, desolately, away. Free now from physical chains, but trapped still inside a changed soul. Back to the beach, back to loneliness, back to a future without his wife and family around him. Callen desperately hoped Sam's future wouldn't be without his work family too, but time, only time would tell, and though it pained him, time was all that Callen could now give his grieving friend.

* * *

 _ **The loneliest walk you'll ever take is the one down the road of grief…**_


End file.
